A Waltz in Darkness
by memorysdaughter
Summary: Claudia's the Caretaker, Steve's disappeared, and their daughter is caught in the middle of it all. Future-fic with appearances from all of our favorite characters. Collaboration with hossluver.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Hi! I'm memorysdaughter, and this story is a collaboration between myself and hossluver. We hope you enjoy our fic; we had a ton of fun writing and editing it.

* * *

There was merit to both arguments. It could be argued that the girl in question - River Olivia Donovan-Jinks - was just like her mother: smart (no, brilliant), interested in everything, able to look at something and reconfigure it in twenty or thirty different ways, never kept out of anything simply by firewalls or locks or closed doors or passwords, fiercely independent, witty, always on the move. Fascinated by technology, video games, science fiction, anything with limitless possibilities.

And she was like her father, though it was more so physically. She had his eyes, his smile, and his somewhat unnerving and completely annoying ability to detect a lie the moment it was spoken. She was kind, thoughtful, loyal to a fault. Beloved by animals. Adoring of her family.

But she didn't believe any of that. How could she? She knew whose daughter she was. She was the Warehouse's daughter.

More and more, Claudia was seeing her daughter less and less. It seemed like every time they were about to have a real conversation - to talk about the things that really mattered - there was a crisis that needed to be solved, there was a ping, or a Regent on fire, or something desperately wrong _somewhere_.

It seemed like every time they were going to fix things, something else came up.

It was their life and it always had been, but as they approached the worst time of the year – his birthday – Claudia was getting more and more frustrated with the pattern.

She had tried asking Myka, trying to figure out when she had crossed the line between a somewhat absent mother and a downright negligent mother. Instead of parenting, they had turned River over to the Warehouse. Myka hadn't known what to say; it was the truth, and there was nothing they could do to change it.

And the girl was just fine with that. After all, the Warehouse had raised her.

It bothered her, probably too much. He'd been gone for four _years_, and she still got all flustered at his birthday… Christmas… their anniversary… River's birthday… Thanksgiving… any time the Warehouse's mishmash of a family celebrated together and he wasn't there, it broke her heart again.

Four _years_. It could have been an eternity. It _was_an eternity. When she looked back over all of the things he'd missed, all of the things he was going to keep on missing – it took her breath away.

Luckily, the rest of the B and B's occupants had the routine figured out. A week or so before any major holiday, she threw herself into work. Checking on pings that weren't really pings, bothering the Regents about things they should have fixed months ago, doing endless rounds of inventory, berating everyone for not measuring up to her standards, and then going home and sleeping far too much. She knew it wasn't healthy, but she just couldn't stop herself. He was there in her dreams – there in a way that he just _wasn't_ anymore. She was tired of looking at the boxes of things in their closet, tired of relying on memories for what should have been reality. But in her dreams she could see him, talk to him, hold his hand; he was warm and whole and _there_. And if that was all she was going to get, she was going to take advantage of it.

River reacted in almost the exact opposite way. The usually-quiet, thoughtful girl went into what Myka referred to as "hyper-drive" close to her father's birthday and her parents' anniversary. She broke things on purpose, listened to her music louder than ever, stayed up all night reading or looking at the photo albums that she was convinced her mother didn't know about, called Switzerland at all hours to chatter to Joshua about anything that got into her head. And though for the majority of the year River was an avoid-confrontation-at-all-costs pacifist, she picked fights with anyone and everyone who got in her way. At the same places in the calendar year when Claudia was giving up the fight, River turned into a manic, fearless, risk-taking fire-starter who couldn't be trusted to keep her hands to herself.

It wasn't natural. It wasn't normal.

But then again, nothing in their lives was.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: **I remain, as always, memorysdaughter, and this remains a collaboration with hossluver. Hossluver will be posting a comment after each chapter, giving you a little insight into our process and the story itself. Feel free to read them or ignore them, whatever you feel comfortable with.

We covet your reviews and appreciate your favorites! We love our readers!

* * *

Chapter One

To the man known as Mr. Crane, hotels were pleasant. For someone on the move, they made for a comfortable place to stop for a night, as sleeping in cars gave one a wretched stitch in the neck, and with thousands of customers coming through what amounted to a blank canvas of a building each night, he could wipe himself out of existence in a matter of minutes.

Simple, comfortable, and forgettable.

Leaning against the headboard of the bed, he chewed the end of a pen thoughtfully, his laptop resting conveniently in his lap. He didn't use the pen; it was merely a mechanism of thought. Replacing it back on the desk, his fingers flew across the keyboard as he continued his research.

"Come on," he muttered to himself. "You're a top secret government warehouse, how hard can it be to break in?"

Typing furiously, he watched the screen intently, eyes scanning for any hint at what he was looking for. His thought process was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" he called without looking up.

"Mr. Crane," the voice replied.

"Come in," he said, beckoning at the door with his hand, unconsciously forgetting that the gesture could not be seen.

There was a click, and the door swung open revealing a tall, burly young man in a black suit and tie. The man known as Crane looked up at him and smiled.

"Aiden!" he said. "You have anything for me?"

"I do, sir."

"Good. What is it?"

Aiden stepped forward, handing him a folder. Crane plucked it from the youth's grasp, opened it, and began to browse through the information contained within.

"It's a list of every person who has ever worked for him,"Aiden said as his boss studied the file.

"Ah, yes, the good folks of Lattimer's League."

"Legion, sir."

Crane frowned as he flipped through the folder of some two hundred names, some of which were familiar to him. If he didn't have so much to do himself, he would have made a night of it. Closing the folder, he set it on the desk and sipped at the mug of tea resting there.

"Where did you get this information?" he asked.

"An unsuspecting agent at the Legion," Aiden replied stiffly. "He was... shall we say... _persuaded _to offer me the information."

Crane shook his head. _Legion_. The man certainly did not deny himself the simple pleasures of life, or the easy thrill of childish theatrics.

"And will he be _persuaded _to give information of your encounter to anyone else?" he asked calmly.

There was a slight pause as the youth shifted uncomfortably.

"It's possible, sir," he said at last.

Crane sighed, burying his face in his palms. "I hate to dump something new on you, but he has to go – as soon as possible. Make sure you aren't seen, and make sure nobody finds him. Here."

As he spoke, Crane tossed Philo of Byzantium's gimbal at his burly employee, who caught it easily.

"Make sure to cover your tracks, Aiden, or I'm afraid I'll have to kill you," he said with a grin.

The smile faltered on the younger man's gruff, unshaven face, but he nodded stoically as he exited the room of his employer, leaving the older man in peace once again.

Shaking his head, Crane once again returned to his business, enjoying the peace for several minutes as he continued his search. After what felt like ages, he suddenly found something encouraging.

"A back door to a back door," he murmured. "Talk about your overkill. What would Freud say?"

He carefully worked his way through the encryptions, focused on taking every possible precaution to avoid detection. He had not gotten far when the screen twitched.

He froze, his confidence shaken, hardly daring to breathe. Then, with a dazzling display of color, his screen erupted with light. An elaborate display of fiery orange and red filled the screen as the information on the page disappeared, leaving the screen completely covered in pixelated flames.

"NO!" he snarled. He typed furiously in a desperate attempt to save his hard drive, and it was only from months of practice and experience that he could prevent a full drive break-down.

He was surprised as words in fancy script appeared on his now dark screen, and he couldn't help but smile. Finally allowing himself to exhale, he reminded himself that no harm had been done, except to slow his mission ever so slightly. He would learn from this mistake, and each one would lead him closer and closer to what he was searching for. Due to the override having taken over his drive, he was unable to exit the page, and so he had nothing else to do but stare at the letters written in white script.

_Little boys who play with fire get their fingers burned._

"Oh, Donovan. Still haven't lost your taste for the dramatic, eh?"

* * *

"Come on, Erik, keep up!" Agent Jenna Perry hollered to her partner as they sprinted down a back alley in Soderborg, Minnesota.

"Seriously? Do you know how heavy this thing is?" Erik Sinclair was stumbling along behind her, trying to keep from dropping Lawrence Welk's accordion.

Due to some sort of mutual miscommunication, they had forgotten static bags. The artifact was causing people in the city to dance uncontrollably, and they had only one chance to get it away from a sadistic bandleader determined to use it for his own profit, so they had no choice but to haul the accordion back to the car.

It didn't help that it was pouring rain, either. Or that Erik was, in his own words, "a teddy bear of a guy," chubby and good-natured and not the first candidate to make a habit of stealing mystical musical instruments from sadistic Minnesotan bandleaders.

"Besides, who is chasing us?" Erik asked as he caught up with Jenna. "That bandleader guy was at least eighty-five. If he gives chase, I quit."

They managed to get to their parked vehicle two blocks up. Jenna threw open the back hatch and scouted around for the largest size of static bag. "Okay, okay, drop it in," she said, peeling open the top of the bag.

Erik looked like he wanted to cuss her out, but he managed to haul the accordion up and squeeze it into the bag. Both agents ducked their heads, expecting the usual flare of sparks and energy.

Nothing.

"Shoot," Erik said.

Jenna opened the bag and looked down at it. "Why didn't it…?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Are you sure this is the right accordion?"

"What other accordion could it have been?"

"We were in a Polish dance hall! There were at least forty accordions there!"

"This isn't going to get easier if you yell at me," Erik said crossly. He grabbed his Farnsworth from his pocket and flipped it open. "We'll just ask the boss lady."

However, it was not "Boss Lady" but River on the other end.

"Boss lady went home for the evening," she informed Erik, making mocking air quotes around the words "boss lady," rolling her eyes at Erik's description of her mother. "And I think Myka and HG are playing Tesla tag in the Prussian Quadrangle, so I'm the best you've got. What's up?"

"We bagged the wrong accordion," Jenna said, leaning over.

"How on earth did you manage that?" River asked incredulously.

"Polish dance hall! Forty accordions!" Jenna threw her arms up in the air.

"Let me see the one you got," River said.

Obligingly Erik held the Farnsworth over the bag, showing the girl the accordion. "See?"

"Oh, no, that's not it," River said, nearly immediately. "It doesn't even look like it."

There was a moment of frantic typing, and then River turned the Farnsworth towards the computer screen. "See? Totally different."

"They look the same to me," Erik groused.

"Erik, you muffin, it didn't spark," Jenna said, using one of her favorite epithets for her partner. "Big fat nothing. And now we've got to break back into the Polish dance hall and steal _another _accordion."

"Just another Saturday night," Erik said, rolling his eyes.

"It's Friday!" Jenna told him.

River hung up on them unceremoniously, and Jenna swore as she did. Sometimes the girl was so like her mother it made her want to smash something. Biting her lip, she looked over at her partner, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. She snapped the Farnsworth closed and thought for a moment. She really had no interest in going back to the dance hall; it had smelled funny and was full of rude, irritating men and annoying Polish polka music.

"What do you think, Erik?"

The agent looked up, surprised.

"You're looking for _my _input?"

"Duh, that's why you're here, Sinclair."

"I thought it was my good looks and easy charm with the ladies."

"Oh, you're useless."

She threw open the car door, back out into the rain. A moment later, her partner appeared by her side, still huffing and puffing slightly from his earlier run. Jenna contemplated a moment, trying to think of a solution. It would be difficult to retrieve the accordion now; the men at the dance hall all knew what they looked like now and it wouldn't be long before the old bastard started to play the accordion again.

"I suppose we're just going to have to hot foot it back there," she sighed. "Come on, Sinclair."

Her partner groaned.

"How about I drive around and see if I see anyone?" he suggested hopefully. Despite the fact that it wasn't half a bad idea, Jenna had no interest in running back to the dance hall by herself.

"And I get to walk back by myself in the rain? As if," she snapped. "Let's go."

Thankfully the trip was short. However, when they got there, the scene was quite different than they had expected. Thankfully, Jenna was always prepared, and she pulled out a tiny flashlight and flicked it on cautiously as they made their way around the dark corner, towards the sound of loud, argumentative voices. She quickly turned off the flashlight, afraid of being seen.

The street was completely dark. Every building was out of power, and even the street lamps had failed. The only lights visible were from an emergency phone off in distance, and a klieg light set up across the street, where a crew had been repairing part of the road. Other than that, there was nothing to be seen. Confused, Jenna tried to squint in the darkness, listening to the indistinguishable but unmistakably panicked voices floating their direction.

She wouldn't have found this situation odd if it weren't for the almost unfailing reliability of power these days, especially in a Midwestern town like this. There were no power lines, as the whole system was underground, and even in a flood it would still hold. Hell, even a tornado. Only the power company could shut down the power, and it would take a genius to break in.

She started and lashed out instinctively as a hand touched her sleeve, only to hear Erik's reproachful voice.

"Ouch!" he hissed.

"Don't startle me like that!" she countered in an angry whisper.

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were scared of the dark," he teased.

"Shut up. What do you want?"

"I have these."

Jenna felt something being pressed into the palm of her hand, and as she took it, she realized instantly what it was, and for a brief second, she could have kissed her partner. They were a pair of lightweight goggles, a project her partner had been working on for the last few weeks. Of course, Jenna would never be seen in public wearing them, but the beauty of these was that there was no need to be seen. They were special, light capturing night vision goggles that gave the wearer the vision equivalent to that of an owl in the dark. She smiled in the dark, and punched her partner lightly in the shoulder.

"Ow," he grumbled.

"Oh hush, you muffin."

As she put the goggles on, she felt something vibrating in her pocket, and as she turned them on, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She could see almost like it was daytime, except it wasn't as bright. Flipping her phone open, she noticed the new text message and opened it. It was very short.

_You have ten minutes._

Jenna shook her head as she looked at her phone. It was running on the Warehouse network; the super-sophisticated system was the only phone network that would work in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean or deep in a subterranean cave. Even after fifteen years, phone companies still hadn't managed to give their customers world-wide service. If the phone was working on the Warehouse network, then then all satellite signals, radio transmissions, and cellular networks must have been killed.

How could she have forgotten? There was only one person who could knock out an entire town's power in five minutes flat and Jenna and Erik just happened to be working for her.

* * *

They were an odd pair – Sinclair and Perry. Perry and Sinclair. Sometimes Jenna still bemoaned the fates, wondering how she could have gotten stuck with such a partner. But she knew, as everyone who saw them in action did, that they were perfect together. The fact that they were polar opposites was often cited as the reasoning behind their impeccable retrieval rate and overall impressive teamwork in the field.

Erik Sinclair was from a working-class family in the Pacific Northwest; he'd spent his childhood playing video games, roughhousing with his younger brothers, and learning how to make risotto, courtesy of his Italian grandmother, who lived with the family until he was fifteen. Erik had a degree in computer forensics from MIT and a second degree in cryptography from Freeman-Mason University in Ohio. He was the Secret Service agent in charge of IT and computer security when he received his "invitation to endless wonder." And while he had originally refused, his insatiable curiosity had eventually gotten the better of him, and he'd headed out to South Dakota. He still couldn't believe it had taken him two months to make "the right decision."

Jenna Perry had been raised by wealthy parents, trust-fund babies who were accustomed to getting absolutely the best. After spending her formative years in prestigious prep schools in New York and Massachusetts, Jenna earned her degree in fashion design and marketing at NYU. It was only after she witnessed a murder during Fashion Week that she considered a career change. She had been part of the Secret Service only six months when she was recommended for what, at the time, she felt was a demotion. But just like Erik, Jenna could no longer imagine her life without the Warehouse.

Erik was funny, easy-going, and completely comfortable with himself, a techie with a love for backyard campfires and James Bond movies. Jenna preferred Broadway shows, matching socks, and yelling at anyone who used her brown sugar-acai berry-nutmeg face cream. And somehow they worked so well together.

They weren't without their struggles, but honestly, all partnerships had them. Sure, Erik had once dropped Jenna off a cliff in England – "There was a _lake _below!" was his favorite retort – and sure, Jenna was guilty of lighting Erik on fire with The Amazing Mercutio's fiery swallowing swords. They fought like brother and sister sometimes at the B&B, usually over Jenna's love of long, long showers. They had gotten through terrible things before, and there were probably scads more terrible things to come. But together they had focus, intelligence, and creativity.

What they didn't have was that damned accordion.

* * *

"Okay, Sinclair, what's the plan?" Jenna whispered as her eyes adjusted to the pressure of the goggles.

Across the street, the attendees of the Polish Dance Night were streaming out into the thoroughfare, trying to make sense of the power outage.

"We could always go with the bait-and-switch," Erik said. "I run out there, scare the crap out of some Polish senior citizens, and you… dart behind me and grab the right accordion."

"How come I always have to do the heavy lifting?"

"Okay, fine. _You_ go scare the senior citizens, and _I'll _go get the accordion."

"No. You didn't get the right one last time."

"Well, you didn't like either of those plans, so I guess we're just going to stand here staring at a Polish dance hall until we die," Erik said.

"I don't like that plan, either."

"Fine, then, Elle Woods, you're now the brain of the plan," Erik said, using his favorite taunt for Jenna. He claimed she reminded him of a character in a series of movies about a blond who'd gotten into Harvard Law School to chase boys. Jenna didn't see the comparison, nor did she find it funny.

"Uh, okay," Jenna said. "What do you have in your magic bag?"

Erik took off his backpack and rummaged around. "I've got… two Snickers bars, half a Fresca, a Tesla grenade, a big static bag, a set of lock picks, a picture of my grandmother in Vegas, and the new Danielle Steele book."

"I thought she was dead."

"Yeah, she is," Erik said. "Or she will be, when everyone reads this book."

"I meant your grandmother."

"Oh, yeah, she's dead too."

"Okay, fine, we're going in light," Jenna said. "How about we just do it old school? The make a break for it plan? We'll head for the back entrance and go in through the store-room like we did last time."

Erik put his backpack back on. "I like it. Let's go."

"On my count," Jenna said, adjusting the goggles. "One… two…"

"Three!" Erik said, and took off for the back of the dance hall.

When Jenna caught up with him, he was already picking the lock on the back door of the dance hall. "You run fast for a teddy bear," she said, gasping.

"I've been jogging," he said, beaming. He jammed a sharp pick into the door with the ball of his hand and the lock gave way with a surprising _eeeeh_. "And we're in."

"You just love saying that, don't you?"

Teslas drawn, they moved through the store-room cautiously. As before, the store-room was filled with boxes of song-books, racks of worn-out clogs, piles of folding chairs, and carton after carton of pickled eggs. There was a bass drum inexplicably shoved up against the far wall, next to a hissing water heater that had, like the majority of the dance hall, seen better days.

"I'll get the door," Erik said. "Cover me."

"Covering," Jenna said, and she slid into position next to the door.

Erik grabbed the knob and squeezed his eyes shut, gathering his courage.

"It's not going to ask you on a date, Sinclair," Jenna muttered.

"And _three_," Erik whispered, and yanked the door open.

The dance hall's largest room, a big square area with green tiled floors and pictures of saints on the walls, was completely deserted. Folding chairs had been knocked over as though the room's occupants had been in a hurry to leave the dance party.

"I only count five accordions," Erik said as he moved cautiously towards the bandleader's podium.

"Substantially less than last time. Man, those Poles and their accordions… Do you see the right one?"

"I think so," Jenna said as they crept up to the carpeted platform. "It's red, right?"

"You're asking me? I'm clearly the muscle in this operation," Erik said.

"Then get me a static bag and provide cover," Jenna said.

Erik found the static bag in his backpack and handed it to Jenna, along with a pair of purple gloves, then proceeded to scan the room with his Tesla, obviously fearing the return of the angry Polish bandleader.

Jenna snapped on the gloves and hefted the most likely accordion, shoving it into the static bag. There was a flare of sparks and energy as the accordion was neutralized, and Jenna breathed a sigh of relief.

"We got the right one," she said to Erik. "Chalk up another success for Perry and Sinclair."

The pair froze as they heard footsteps coming down the hallway. "Ach, Waclaw! Nobody's trying to take your accordion, you paranoid git!"

"And now it's time for another Perry and Sinclair masterful escape," Erik said. "Just hold that accordion and _run_, Elle Woods."


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: **Thank you to all of our readers! We love reviews! (Like, really, _really_ love them.)

* * *

Chapter Two

She was exhausted by the time she got to her bedroom. First there had been the debacle with the wrong accordion. After that, she'd had to spend several long minutes pulling back up the entire electrical grid of Soderborg, Minnesota. And just when she'd thought it was safe to go home, her darling daughter had somehow rerouted an electrical charge from a taken-apart Tesla through the stem of a Phillips head screwdriver, crashing the electrical system that controlled the Umbilicus doors, necessitating another long series of minutes – half to fix the problem, the other half to yell at River even though she knew that the second she left, River would be back at it again with her fiddly little tools. Claudia would find the girl sprawled out on the office's Oriental rug in the morning, tiny screwdriver in her hand and electrical burns on her fingers as she grumbled in her sleep. It was River's preferred method of investigating – try stuff until she passed out from exhaustion.

_Speaking of exhaustion_…

Claudia closed the door behind her, pleased with the firm _clack_of the lock. Her bed was calling to her, lavish with plump pillows and comfortable blankets. She kicked off her boots, didn't bother to undress (sure there would be one crisis or another sooner or later), and crawled into bed.

By the light of the bedside lamp, she stared at his picture. His smile. Her daughter's smile.  
_Their_daughter's smile.

"If you were here right now, I'd hug you," she whispered. "And then I'd break your kneecaps for missing so damn much."

He didn't say anything. He wasn't there. He hadn't been there for so long.

She put the picture back on the table and switched off the light.

Darkness reached up with long, spidery fingers and yanked her downwards.

* * *

"Claudia, get back in the car." Pete's voice was the first thing she heard.

"What? What is it?" Words spilled out of her mouth. She was asking the same inane questions; she hadn't been in _this_ space, in _this_place for more than eighteen years, and yet every time she showed up here in her dreams, she asked the same questions.

"_Get back in the car_."

And then she was sliding, running, climbing, screaming, crying.

Over and over again.

There he was, before her eyes, dead.

_I remember this_.

Dead.

Blue-gray dead. All the life gone from his eyes. And yet he was still reaching out, as though he'd been trying to grab his life back from the person who'd stolen it away.

But when she touched his hand, scarcely daring to believe her eyes, he grabbed on, fiercely, as though _he_ was trying to comfort _her_.

"Claudia, it's all right! We're okay! Myka's got everything under control!"

And then someone was screaming, somewhere – she registered far too late that it was _her_. They were somewhere else, another place she recognized as full of pain and noise and beginnings and endings.

In the driver's seat of the SUV, Myka was swearing and slamming her hand against the steering wheel. Outside, the too-white façade of a South Dakota winter was spinning as the large vehicle lost traction, fishtailing across the two-lane back road.

"It's okay, it's okay," Steve was saying. He was right in her face and she it was hard for her to bear – she was so close to him. "You're okay. Just squeeze my hand."

Pain jolted through her body again, a searing, soaring wave that grabbed her around the waist, tightened like a noose around her swollen belly, and shoved itself up her spine. She howled and grabbed Steve's hands, tighter, _tighter_.

"I remember this," she whispered as the pain receded, but Steve wasn't paying attention to her.

"Good, good," Steve said. "Artie, what was that one?"

"They're still five minutes apart, but I think they're getting stronger," Artie said from the front seat. He was gripping his seatbelt in one hand and a stopwatch in the other hand. "Myka, I know you're not used to driving in the snow, but could you maybe just…"

"Shut up!" Myka said as the SUV continued its tricky slide across the road. "Just be glad there aren't any tractors or slow-moving snowplows for me to ram this car into."

Steve leaned in and smoothed her hair back from her sweaty face. "You're doing great."

"Lie," Claudia croaked. She felt like she was being twirled in a blender.

"That's my line," Steve said, and smiled at her.

_That smile_.

"We'll be at the hospital in no time," Steve said. "On the next contraction, just remember to _breathe_."

And the SUV went sliding again.

Myka swore.

The pain reared up and grabbed her again. Claudia gripped Steve's hands tightly and tried to breathe.

"Just… please…"

And there he was again, fallen away from her, his head tilted at that appalling angle.

Myka coming up behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

But she wouldn't let go of his hand.

"It's okay, just hang on," he said.

The SUV was doing another one of its circular spins as Myka tried desperately to pull it out of the slide. "I thought this thing had all-wheel drive," she muttered to Artie.

The pain was just too big. Her vision was getting spotty at the edges and her chest felt like a bear was sitting on it. "Help," Claudia managed to say. "Help."

"Claudia," Steve said, leaning over her. His eyes were worried. "Claudia?"

There was a series of _bang_s, each one louder and more threatening than the last.

_Bang_.

"Claudia?"

_Bang_.

"Claudia! We need your help!"

_Bang_.

* * *

Her eyes flew open and she registered a few things: One, it was just past two in the morning. Two, the bangs were courtesy of Myka and HG, who were on the other side of her locked bedroom door, knocking as though their lives depended on it. Three, it was Steve's birthday. _Happy Birthday._

She groggily got out of bed and unlocked the door. As she pulled it open, she grabbed for her boots. "What is it?"

"The usual," HG said as Claudia slid her boots on.

"Again?"

"At least this time she waited until after midnight."

"Yeah, the Univille Volunteer Fire Department's not really going to see that as a plus," Claudia said,  
yawning.

"Look at the bright side – maybe we'll finally run out of things for her to light on fire," Myka said.

"Either that or she'll move onto something we don't own," Claudia said.

"Do you worry about her?" HG asked quietly.

"More than you can ever know," Claudia said. "Just get me some water, all right?"

Still yawning, she clomped down the stairs. Sure enough, through the back doors she could see her little pyromaniac, standing in front of what had once been a lovely crabapple tree.

Claudia stepped out onto the back patio and watched her daughter. There was something new and odd in the rigid way River held her body. In the odd light from the burning tree, she didn't look like Claudia's daughter. She looked like a stranger.

It was an illusion that was quickly squashed when Claudia walked up next to the girl. River's braids had been messily caught up behind her head with a chunky clip – the better to pour lighter fluid on a tree without burning one's hair – and there were tears streaming down her face.

"You know," Claudia said, trying to sound conversational, "there are better and more traditional ways to celebrate birthdays. Some would say… cake… is an acceptable medium."

River reached up and smeared the tears off her face, and for a moment Claudia saw the lost girl of her youth, the one who had kidnapped a government agent and held him prisoner in a laboratory for all the right reasons. "Can't light cake on fire."

"Not with that attitude," Claudia said, only somewhat sarcastically.

For a moment they stared at the tree as it burned, shooting off little flares and tongues of flame into the night.

"What are you going to do when we run out of trees?" Claudia asked, putting her arm around her daughter.

River flinched as her mother's arm settled on her shoulder, but then she leaned into the embrace. "I was thinking I'd build a tool shed…"


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: **Thanks to all our readers and reviewers! We love, love, LOVE reviews!

Enjoy!

* * *

Once the tree was put out and she'd drank enough tea to satisfy her mother, River curled up in bed with her favorite picture album. She trailed her fingers over the ribbons on the cover as she opened it.

_Wish you would just come home, Dad_. She looked down at the first picture in the album – her on the swings at the park, her mouth open in glee, her long hair streaming out behind her, and her dad there to keep her going _higher, higher!_It had been such a simple, almost meaningless moment in a person's life, but the joy the memories brought her was worth it.

Or the second picture – her dad kneeling, watching as toddler River took her first steps in the Warehouse's Pillow and Quilt aisle ("The safest place to fall on your face," as Claudia had dubbed it). There was a brown-and-white blur to the far side of the picture as Trailer the dog, thinking Steve was in a playful mood, rushed both girl and her father.

Or the third, taken mere seconds after the previous one, as River gripped Trailer's fur with a big drooly smile on her face, both dog and girl on the floor.

Or…

* * *

"_River_."

She whirled around, confused. She was positive that she had just been in her bedroom. But it had been a strange night.

"_River_."

She was smack-dab in the middle of a Warehouse aisle, but nothing made sense. She didn't recognize any of the artifacts around her.

However, as the Warehouse's daughter, she had been trained well. Artie was the one who had given her the idea of a "Warehouse survival kit," a backpack she wore nearly all the time when doing inventory or just fooling around, carrying all of the things she would need if something went awry, and several artifacts she thought could aid in a sticky situation. And Myka had forced her to read the entire Manual as soon as she could read. Her mother's contribution was something smaller and easier to handle - a copy of the Warehouse map that fit neatly onto the screen of an iPad. There _was_, in fact, an app for that.

She grabbed for her kit, only to realize that she wasn't wearing it. Which was downright odd.

"_River."_

Everything around her looked blurry and unfamiliar. She reached out and tried to touch the closest artifact, but a crackle of light zapped her before she could get there.

"Hello?" she asked the general area around her.

"_River_."

The sixteen-year-old hesitated a moment, turning in a slow circle as she tried to locate the source of the voice she knew so well. She hardly dared to believe it. Could it really be...?

"Dad?" she asked hesitantly.

The Warehouse slid away from her, and she was back in the backyard, getting ready to light the tree.

"You don't have to do this," her father said from behind her.

"I said I was going to do it until you came home."

"We're running out of trees."

"You're not here. What does it matter to you?"

"Just because I'm not here doesn't mean I'm not interested in what you're doing."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I can't keep tabs on you when you're awake."

"So, dream stalking? How cliché."

"Don't you think I would come home if I could?"

River shrugged. "You've been gone four years. How am I supposed to know who you are now?"

"That hurts."

"You know what else hurts? You leaving. Well, that, and Tesla-ing yourself. But they're unrelated."

She looked up at him, and all of a sudden he was someone else. His cold blue eyes stared down at her, his face hidden slightly by the hooded sweatshirt he was wearing. His mouth curled into a slight, ghostly grin that held no kindness.

This was not her father.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she took a step back, tentatively.

"Dad?" she said uncertainly.

Suddenly she was back in the Warehouse, and this time she was running. Something - or someone - was chasing her.

"_Stop!" _she screamed at it. "Leave me alone!"

_Can't stop. I never stop. Can't stop_.

Something snaked out and grabbed her ankle. She shrieked and tumbled forward, hard, onto her elbows.

_I know it's just a dream but if it's a dream then why –_

Stunned by the impact, River tried to get up. Her head was fuzzy and her joints felt like they were made of cotton candy. She couldn't stand – all she could do was turn around and see what was coming after her.

Something featureless and dark, shapeless like a cloud of black fabric, was sweeping up the Warehouse aisle behind her. It was turning off all the lights, turning artifacts into sudden eruptions of firework-like noise and explosions.

_Bang._

_Bang._

"Mom! Mom!" River screamed as the blackness got closer. "_Mom!"_

_Bang!_

* * *

"Shh, shh, I'm here," Claudia said as she wrapped her arms around her daughter.

"_Mom!" _River howled, but she refused to wake up.

"River, wake up," Claudia said. "It's okay. I'm here."

"_Mom_," River whimpered, and her face relaxed.

She rolled over and stopped shaking, nestling back into her covers, and Claudia exhaled after a moment, her heart pounding. After a moment, she looked towards HG, who was standing in the doorway.

"Hey," she greeted the older woman.

"Claudia, Pete called," HG said. "One of his men is missing."

"Okay," Claudia said. "I'll… go see what we can do."

She stood up and tried to smooth her mussed hair. She wanted some more sleep, but it wasn't happening.

"Will you just watch and make sure she's… all right?"

"_Mom… he's… he's… in…"_River murmured, and then rolled over and went quiet.

"I'll stay," HG said.

* * *

Claudia decided that she had come to terms with the fact that sleep was overrated a long time ago. Seriously, what was the point in trying? She was plagued by horrific nightmares, and when _she _wasn't being plagued, River was. As much as it worried her, she couldn't merely sit with her all night long like she might have once upon a time. No, she had business to attend to.

What was nice about being the Warehouse VIP was that she got her own office in the B&B - which was stupendous. She had always used to wonder where Mrs. Frederic lived, but as it turned out, she had long since left the Warehouse and lived somewhere in Rapid City. Claudia couldn't imagine that sort of life; it wasn't until she got a room at the B&B that she had felt like she belonged somewhere. She wasn't entirely sure if River felt the same way, having grown up with artifacts and whatnot, but she seemed to love it. But Claudia sometimes wondered if River felt like she really belonged anywhere.

Sitting down at her computer, she turned it on, and then picked up her cell phone, and called Lattimer's Legion. Pete's cell phone had gotten trashed some weeks ago, and because he enjoyed the break from constant phone calls, he decided to allow his secretary to be tortured for an extra month by the hundreds of calls that came in every day. Sure enough, the woman who answered the call seemed haggard, exhausted, but making a valiant attempt at friendliness all the same.

"Lattimer's Legion, where we provide security to the insecure. This is Doris. How may I direct your call?"

"Hello, I would like to speak with Mr. Lattimer, please," Claudia said assertively.

"Is Mr. Lattimer expecting your call?"

"Yes."

"May I take your name?"

"My name is Claudia Donovan."

"One moment please, Miss Donovan."

Claudia cringed slightly at being called "Miss." Did she really sound that young? It was painful because, up until the last few months, she had always been referred to as "Mrs." whenever she called somewhere, or spoke to someone. She herself often flip flopped between Donovan and Jinks, but she really went by both. However, it seemed that to most people, she was Donovan now. For some reason, people just didn't remember Jinksy anymore. It was like he had never been born and yet he would always be Jinksy in her head. Yet besides herself, River, and the Warehouse team, nobody else seemed to remember him, not even the Univille folks. It was odd, but somehow it also made sense.

"Pete Lattimer here."

Claudia had almost forgotten that she was speaking to Pete, and she quickly reorganized her thoughts.

"Lattimer. I thought you were under strict orders never to call after one in the morning," she chided sternly.

"Ms. Claudia Donovan, I presume? Special circumstances arose, and I need a genius."

There was a brief pause in which Claudia smiled a bit at his playful formality. Then she decided to drop it.

"How are you, Pete?" she asked.

"Oh, you know, playing hockey, drinking beer occasionally, being amazing in general. How are you?"

Though his question was casual, Claudia sensed the delicacy behind his playful manner. _How are you?_ It was a question she was asked frequently, but for the last few years, she had never known how to respond. She always wanted to say _I'm slowly dying inside and I think my daughter wouldn't care if she was permanently lost in the Warehouse, but otherwise I'm okay_. Of course, it wasn't socially acceptable to say such a thing, even if it was true. However, usually it all boiled down to the same thing.

"I'm coping," she said after a moment. "So, spill it, Sparticus."

Pete hesitated, clearly realizing there was more to the situation than she was letting on, but thankfully he decided not to press her. He cleared his throat.

"Well, I've had a guy go missing on duty, and my security cameras have all been hacked," he began.

"That's enough for me to talk about for years," Claudia said hurriedly, her heart lurching uncomfortably. "Were you able to trace the source of the break-in?"

"That's what I was hoping you could help me with," Pete said uneasily. "None of my boys can make any sense of what happened."

Claudia was about to say she was going to be right over when she stopped herself, thinking over what Pete had just told her. Something was not right. Something was very wrong.

"Pete, I programmed those myself," she said slowly. "Is there something you haven't been telling me?"

Pete was silent on the other end of the phone, which was more than enough for Claudia.

"I'll be there in two hours."

* * *

Thankfully, the firm was massive, and it was easy to locate. It was a wild two hour drive to Pierre, and by the time she got there, she was fairly certain she was about to keel over from exhaustion. However, upon seeing her old friend, she was energized. She missed seeing him around the Warehouse, he'd always brought such life to it. He looked good, even though his dark hair was flecked with grey; he had finally started wearing glasses. There was nothing wrong with his vision; he just wanted an excuse to wear cool glasses. He said they gave him an edge with the ladies, which Claudia wasn't sure if she bought. He was still as fit as ever, and he still had that slightly manic look of a Warehouse agent.

"Hey, hey, girl!" he chimed, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Pete! You're squishing me!" Claudia laughed, hugging him back. After a moment, he released her, and the two of them began walking towards the main entrance together.

"How's the family?" Pete asked as he led the way through the mahogany-paneled foyer. "Has Myka gone crazy with power yet?"

"Like Myka would ever let power go to her head," Claudia said. "She's far too busy reading everything. And keeping our two agents in line. For grown-ups, sometimes they take an awful lot of supervision."

"And the little pyromaniac?" Pete asked, stopping in front of the elevators.

"You remembered."

"It's on my calendar, Claud. It always is," Pete said, and he gave her a sad smile.

He took her straight to the security suite, where two spark-plug-shaped men - one blond, one Asian - were sitting seriously before a bank of monitors. In the corner, a young man with glasses and mussed hair was focused intensely on a series of computers, making adjustments to dials and knobs as he tapped away at a keyboard.

When Pete entered, the two men at the monitors stood up immediately, straightening their ties and blazers. "Mr. Lattimer."

"At ease, gentlemen," Pete said with his traditional disarming smile.

"Ma'am," the two men mumbled.

Claudia gave them a smile. Pete certainly had them trained well.

"Gentlemen, Ms. Donovan is here to look at the feeds from the night Barry disappeared," Pete said. "Give her any help she needs."

"Yes, sir," one of the men said.

"And Scooter?" Pete said, looking over to the bespectacled young man in the corner. "Just let the lady do what she does best. See if you can pick up any pointers, all right?"

Scooter didn't look up, but he saluted. Claudia smiled. He looked like Fargo.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, Claud," Pete said. "I need to go over a briefing with the morning squad."

"Okay," Claudia said. She pulled up one of the rolling chairs and set up her laptop on the counter.

Pete left, and one of the guys in suits handed Claudia a short USB cable. "We can download the feeds right into your computer," he said.

"Awesome," Claudia said, and she plugged in the cord. "So, when did Barry go missing?"

"Last Wednesday," the blond man said. "Here's a picture of Barry."

He handed her a 4-by-6 photograph of a smiling man with curly dark hair wearing a suit and a blue-striped tie, posing in front of an American flag. "He was supposed to be on duty at the Warringham Mansion."

"The...?"

"It's a museum in Buffalo City," the Asian man replied. "They've been having some problems with vandalism and theft, so the city council hired us to patrol the mansion during the night, and to upgrade their security systems."

"And is Barry a reliable guy?"

"Yes, ma'am," both men said without hesitation.

"He's very serious about his job," the blond man continued. "Never late. He's really a stickler for being on time. He reads case files like we're being tested on them. He trains the new guys."

"And for him to go missing is just out-of-the-world weird," the Asian said. "Barry's the guy we all look up to."

The video files from the security cameras had popped up on Claudia's computer, and she started to flick through them. The office compound had been completely wired for sound and video capabilities, and at least two people were always on duty in the security suite at all times. Pete was serious about making sure his employees were doing their jobs safely.

"What time did Barry's shift start?" she asked.

"His team was scheduled to start surveillance at the mansion at ten-thirty p.m., ma'am."

"And they left from here?"

"Yes, ma'am."

First Claudia looked through the security feeds from the office levels. Barry came on shift at eight p.m., went to the employees' break room to clock in, and then went up to his office on the third floor. From there she tracked him through the building. He checked his email for ten minutes or so, did some filing, and read through two files. After that he unlocked the top drawer in his desk, removed his service revolver, and holstered the gun. He turned off the lights and left his office. On his way down to the parking garage, he stopped into two different offices. In one office, he dropped off a file. In the other, he merely paused for conversation. With that completed, Barry went down to the parking garage and started up the van that would transport the Lattimer's Legion employees to their job that night. Five other men exited the building, climbed in the van, and Barry drove the van out of the parking garage and out into the night.

"Okay, so, that all looks fine," Claudia said. "Looks like he just went about his business."

"Yes, ma'am," the blond guy said. "Everything checked out here in-house. We looked at the files Barry was reading and they didn't contain any information that would help us ascertain his whereabouts."

"So he went missing from the museum?"

"Yes, ma'am," the Asian man said. "Those video files are in the folder marked Wednesday Night Shift. But you won't be able to see much."

"Because it's dark? You know they're night vision cameras, right?"

"No, ma'am," the blond said. "Because of... well, you'll just have to see."

Claudia called up the first file and watched a scintillating four and a half minutes of Barry patrolling the exterior of the museum. "Okay, so...?"

"In the next file," the blond man coached.

Claudia pulled up the second file. Barry was standing at the place where the museum's parking lot met up with the mansion's gate-house, looking seriously at something to the right of the gate-house. The security guard's attention was concentrated on a small copse of trees. "What is he seeing?" Claudia murmured.

Barry pressed his ear, as though speaking into an earpiece, and then drew his gun, moving towards the trees.

"Did he radio for assistance?" Claudia asked.

The two guards exchanged a glance. "We believe he thought he radioed for assistance, ma'am," the Asian man said. "But none of the other guards reported hearing his call."

"And we checked the radio feeds," the blond guard added. "Nothing."

Barry took a few steps towards the trees and said something. Then he repeated it, louder, raising his gun.

A hand snaked out from the guard shack, a strange-looking weapon gripped in strong fingers, and -

The image died, the screen suddenly fuzzy with purple static. Claudia jerked back from the screen.

"All of the camera feeds look like that," the Asian man said. "We checked."

"And Scooter ran a back trace on the feed," the blond man said. "He couldn't find the source."

"How long does the static go on for?" Claudia asked.

"Seventeen minutes," Scooter replied from the corner.

"And there's no message contained in the feed?"

At this the young techie looked up. "I didn't... I didn't think about that. It just looks like static. I thought it was a problem with the hardware. They've been recalling some of the newer-model Aspen cameras because of a fault with the hard drive, and..."

Claudia stopped the video feed on the screen and ran the static through an image enhancement program. Slowly, layer after layer of the static was peeled away, coming off in stripes of black, purple, and white.

And there, at the bottom of the image, hidden under eighty-four layers of carefully-constructed static, were two words. Two words that drove spikes through Claudia's heart and made her head swim.

_Knock. Knock._


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: **Thanks to all our readers and reviewers! We LOVE reviews - please let us know what you think of our story. Both of us read and enjoy all of the reviews; they really do make us better writers.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Hey, boss, we're back from Minnesota!" Erik called as he carried Lawrence Welk's accordion into the office.

Jenna had gone before him to open the doors, and she swept one arm out in a welcoming gesture. "And we brought you a souvenir."

Myka turned around. "I'm glad you two are back."

"Uh-oh," Erik said. "That's never good."

"Another ping already?" Jenna asked.

Myka brushed her curly hair back from her face. "No, but... it's been an unusual series of hours."

"Where's Boss Lady?" Erik wanted to know.

"She got called away," Myka said. "And that accordion needs to go in the Polka Pit."

"That's a place?" Erik looked surprised.

A rare smile crossed the senior Warehouse agent's face. "No," she said. "But doesn't it sound like it should be?"

"I'm still astonished that 'Prussian Quadrangle' is a place," Erik said, shrugging.

"Take the accordion to Edinburgh 50-45," Myka said. "And whatever you do, _don't _touch the harmonicas!"

"Aye, aye, captain. Back in a kish," Erik said as he headed out, still lugging the accordion.

Jenna sat down at the desk and looked over at the older agent. "What are you not telling me?"

Myka looked over at the pretty blond girl. For someone who'd spent the night running through the rain-soaked streets of Minnesota and sitting knee-to-knee with businessmen on a red-eye flight back to South Dakota, Jenna looked amazing. She _always _looked good. Occasionally it was irritating.

"Uh, you know," Myka stalled. "Just... things get hot around here sometimes."

It was a poor choice of words, because immediately Jenna looked worried. "Oh, no, did she light another tree on fire?"

Myka nodded.

Jenna looked irritated. "We _used _to have a nice yard."

"I know," Myka said.

"The girl is sixteen years old," Jenna went on. "She needs to learn that she can't just light trees on fire every time things don't go her way. Look, when I was fifteen years old my father was convicted of insider trading and went to _jail_ for six years. I didn't light _anything _on fire."

"Because you lived in a penthouse," Erik said as he breezed back in. "What would you have lit on fire? Money? Some designer clothes?"

"Oh, and I suppose you're going to tell me that you were a young pyromaniac at her age?"

"I had four younger brothers," Erik said. "Of _course _we lit stuff on fire. Trees, shrubs, our shoes, textbooks, my sister's Barbies, bedding, illegally produced bottle rockets..."

"Okay, okay, rocket man," Jenna said. "I get it. But honestly, Myka, Agent Jinks has been gone for four years, and she's still lighting trees on fire. Does she think he's going to... _see _them and decide to come home? Is it a distress signal?"

"I don't know what it is," Myka said. "But I think I prefer burned trees to reckless use of artifacts."

"Yeah, my toenails still haven't grown back yet," Erik grumbled.

Myka pointed a finger at him, grinning. "That was your own fault, Agent Sinclair."

She looked over at the two agents. "All right, go home, rest up. There's no telling when the next ping will pop up... and until then, there's always inventory."

Jenna got up and headed for the door, Erik loping behind her.

"Oh! And when you get home - _be quiet!" _Myka called after them. With any luck, River would have calmed down enough to sleep.

* * *

HG looked down at the worried girl in the bed. River was sleeping, but it wasn't peaceful. Every so often her hands would jerk up as though she was trying to shield herself from some oncoming enemy, and she alternated between panicked, frantic whimpering and calling out for her mother.

"Sweetheart," HG said as she gently stroked River's forehead. "Sweetheart, wherever you are, it's all right."

* * *

Panicked and terrified, River stumbled through the Warehouse aisles. If she could just make it back to the office, just find her kit, she'd be all right. But she had to get there first.

Artifacts were buzzing and fizzing and popping; static energy flowing frantically everywhere. Bursts of light and glass were showering down around her. The floor underneath her feet seemed to be shifting, like the floor in a fun-house. A not-so-fun fun-house.

She tore down the aisle, sneakers skidding, and hooked her arm around the closest shelf upright, propelling her into a turn. Something hit the floor behind her, but she didn't stop to see what it was.

The floor buckled up under her and she veered forward, heedless, unable to stop. "No, no, no, no, _no!"_

Her arms flailed out in front of her and she grabbed for the life-saving backpack that wasn't there, desperate for its help. Instead she found herself off balance, falling down a concrete floor that was suddenly as slick as ice, as slippery as a well-lubricated water slide.

"Mom! _Mom! _No, no, _no, NO!"_

* * *

HG watched helplessly as River writhed, caught in some sort of terrifying dream world. Carefully the older woman took the girl's hand in hers. "Shhh, sweetheart. I'm here. You're safe, I promise."

* * *

River slid inexorably towards an end she couldn't see. She threw her arms up to try to brace herself against the inevitable impact. With a rib-cracking _smash _she hit whatever was in front of her, and curled up in a fetal position against her resting point. She pulled herself in on herself, sobbing as pain radiated through her body. "No," she said weakly.

She heard footsteps coming closer, closer, but she couldn't move. "Go away. Go away," she pleaded.

Strong hands reached down and grabbed her roughly, yanking her upright by her forearms. "Come on. Up," a stern voice said. "Up. Good girl."

River writhed against the grip, trying to turn around and see her mysterious assailant.

"Good girl, good girl," the stern voice continued. "Now _look_."

The angry hands wrenched her around, and River was suddenly staring into a tall, glassy mirror. Her first thought was _the mirror of Erised_, recalling that dramatic chapter in the first Harry Potter book (one of her favorites). The image was unclear, fuzzy, and no matter how she squinted, River couldn't see any image.

And then the image cleared.

"Dad?" River asked confusedly. "No... no, it's not you. It's not you."

She tried to turn around, to see who held her in front of the mirror, but the grip on her shoulders was too tight.

And with one angry shove, River found herself hurtling through the glass head-first.

She screamed...

* * *

… and found herself being pulled upright, words being uttered hurriedly in her direction that she could not understand.

"No, stop, stop, please," she begged, throwing her hands up to protect herself.

"River, sweetheart, you're safe. You're awake," HG said. "Shh, darling."

River blinked, confused. The words still weren't making sense, and there was a strange dark-haired woman in front of her, mouth moving, hands on her shoulders. "No, no, go..."

"Shh, shh," HG said, and she pulled the girl against her, stroking River's head.

"Mom," River said, still somewhat baffled as the world slowly fell into place around her. "Mom, he's... he's..."

But she ran out of words, and had to settle for HG's tight embrace and gentle ministrations as tears flowed down her face.

* * *

"What in the name of sanity is that supposed to mean?" the tech asked, completely baffled.

Claudia stared at the screen, hardly daring to breathe. Her brain was working so quickly that everything she did seemed to be in slow motion.

"Can I get a printout of this?" she said hoarsely. The youth nodded uncertainly.

"There's a printer next door. Are you feeling alright, ma'am?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. She began typing at top speed, and in a few seconds she had gained access to the PA system.

"Hey!" the tech said reproachfully.

However, before he could intervene, Claudia was speaking into the computer's microphone, her voice amplified over the PA system.

"Peter Lattimer, please report to your office immediately."

Without another word, Claudia closed everything on the computer and walked briskly out of the office, turned right, walked into the copy room and snatched up the photograph. As she turned to walk out, she found the tech and the two guards waiting for her, looking extremely confused.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but what's going on? What does that message mean?" the blond guard asked.

"It has meaning only to me, please try and understand that this is where your involvement ends," Claudia said briskly, picking up an authoritative air. She could be in charge when she needed to be. "Thank you for your assistance, I will make sure this whole mess is cleaned up."

That statement seemed to be enough for the two guards, who nodded and walked away like proper soldiers. However, as Claudia practically ran back into the hall, the young tech seemed determined to get more answers out of her. He followed her like a small annoying dog. She ignored him for a minute as she made her way to the elevator, but when he started speaking, she had to stop.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but what was that about? Is there something I can do to help? Perhaps we can find the culprit and –"

The Warehouse's Caretaker whirled around to face him, staring him down with a look that would have made Mrs. Frederic proud. The youth's words died in his throat without her having to say anything, and when she spoke, her voice was low, and deadly serious.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Weber," he said quietly. "Scooter Weber."

"Mr. Weber, I am grateful for your help. I really am. But I cannot even begin to tell you just how serious this situation is, and I cannot impose upon you enough how important it is that you do not get involved. If you value your life, and the lives of your family, then make it your life's goal _never to speak of this, again_. Am I clear?"

Weber nodded, his mouth hanging open slightly. Claudia smiled grimly at him, but said nothing more. She stepped into the elevator, and the kid vanished from sight. Even as the doors closed, she could see he was still watching her. As soon as she was alone, Claudia leaned up against the back wall of the elevator, sliding down to the floor, her knees tucked up to her chest. She didn't press any buttons; she was desperate for a moment to herself. Sure, there was a camera; but they were on the fritz anyways.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she ducked her head between her knees and tried to calm herself down. _Damn it, Jinksy, I need you! _It was moments like these that she had never been more grateful to have him; his calming presence, the reassuring smile he always gave her when she was freaking out about something. He always seemed to settle her down, but now he was gone. Memories flooded her brain, and for a moment, she was transported back thirteen years ago to the Warehouse office…

* * *

_"Claud?"_

_She didn't respond to his worried voice; she was sitting in Artie's chair, staring out at the Warehouse. _Her _Warehouse. She could feel its power in ways she had never felt before; she sensed every nook and cranny of every aisle, and knew every artifact. It was like the Warehouse was trying to speak to her, but she couldn't quite figure out how to communicate with it. It was like they didn't speak the same language, but were stuck in a room together. It was a nightmare. She hadn't slept in days, she was exhausted, and the Regents kept bugging her._

_Claudia was vaguely aware of someone walking up behind her, but she still didn't respond. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder._

_"Hey," he said, squeezing her shoulder gently, and kneeling down to her level. _

_As he lowered to eye level, Claudia knew it was impossible not to look at him, and she turned her head. He looked worried, but not frantic. He didn't look like he wanted to solve all of her problems, but like he was ready to listen to her, simply to be there, his icy blue eyes full of concern. His presence was so calming that she felt she could simply look into his eyes for an eternity and never have to face the world again. _

_She tried to compose herself enough to say something to him. Instead, she broke down completely and practically fell into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably._

_"I can't do this, Jinksy," she cried helplessly._

_"Yes, you can," he replied softly, wrapping his arms around her. _

_She shook her head weakly. "How can I take over the job of a woman who had it for almost two hundred years? I can't run the Warehouse, I'm useless in politics, I'm terrible at being intimidating, and really the only thing I'm good at is committing felonies."_

_She was more miserable than she could remember being in a long time, so it took her a few seconds to realize that he was laughing. Claudia was so surprised by this that she actually stopped crying._

_"Why are you laughing?" she whimpered pitifully, slightly hurt._

_"Claudia, do you realize how silly you're sounding?" he said. "You can do all of those things! The Warehouse is more of a home to you than anyone else here. I can't believe that you're worried about politics, because you're a fantastic arguer, and the Regents take care of most of that anyways. You don't need to be intimidating, and let's face it - it's not going to be a problem for you. Also, you wired the Warehouse, you can play the guitar, you sing beautifully, you dance, and I'm pretty sure you set a world record in Tetris. Oh, and you're an amazing mother to the smartest, sweetest, most fantastic little girl. I'm pretty sure you're a lot more qualified than you think you are."_

_Staring at him with tear stained eyes, Claudia was grateful for everything he said, but despite it, she still was holding back tears. He frowned at her._

_"You're probably right," she hiccoughed, hastily pulling herself together, but still failing. She looked away from him and back out at the Warehouse.._

_"Claudia," he said sternly. "What's really bothering you?"_

_Of course. He could read her like a book. Seeing no way out, she took a deep breath. The words were far more difficult than she had anticipated._

_"Mrs. Frederic outlived everyone she loved," she said quietly, her voice breaking, and she found it impossible to continue. She cast a slight glance his way, but was unable to meet his gaze._

_"Claud, look at me," Steve said gently. When she didn't, she felt his hand on her cheek, and reluctantly turned to look at him, her hair falling around her face. He reached out with his other hand and brushed it away._

_"Claudia, you can't live your life in anticipation of the inevitable coming to pass," he said softly. "That's a terrible, terrible way to live. I know it feels like a curse, but it's also a gift. Life is a way of learning, Claudia, and everyone who is alive today is living for a purpose. Whatever life you live, your soul walks away with a better understanding of the universe. The fact that we exist at all is incredible, but if we take it for granted, and fear its ending, we lose purpose. Life is beautiful because it is short, and yet it is packed so full. It's painful when it's over, but without pain, we have nothing. What you have to remember is that no matter where you are, you will always find love." _

_Claudia could only stare at him, her mouth open slightly as she drank in his words. She sometimes had to remind herself of how wise her wonderful Jinksy really was, and how much he had to offer to her. If anything, he would have made a good candidate for this job. She hugged him tightly, as though he were the only thing keeping her alive._

_"Thank you," she whispered._

_"I'm here for you, Claudia," he replied. "Me and that beautiful little girl with my eyes and your attitude."_

_"I know. Just promise you'll live to be a hundred, okay?"_

_"Only if you promise to frame a picture of a butterfly after I die and put it in your room for all eternity."_

_Claudia giggled. "So you actually are bent on being reincarnated as a butterfly?"_

_"It's been my life's dream since you brought it up."_

_His voice was teasing now, and she finally let go of him and sat back upright in her chair again. Wiping her eyes, Claudia smiled at him genuinely now, her heart swelling._

_"I'll stop being an emotional twat now," she said definitively, standing up. Steve rose with her, rolling his eyes._

_"Claudia, you're not an emotional twat," he chided. She shrugged, sniffling slightly. Steve put an arm around her, smiling down at her affectionately. "I mean what I say about you being qualified. You're a bright, energizing, and beautiful person."_

_"Now you're just being mushy," she teased, enjoying the compliments all the same. He raised an eyebrow, swung her in closer to him and kissed her briefly._

_"I'm your husband," he said with a grin. "I believe it's required. Now come on, I think Artie's having a fit."_

_"The man was not cut out to be a long-term babysitter," Claudia agreed._

_With that, the two of them left the office shoulder to shoulder, like two sides of a coin._

* * *

Claudia blinked. How long had she been sitting there? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? She couldn't tell. Standing up quickly, she jammed the elevator button, and it lurched downward. Checking her watch, she was relieved to see that she had been thinking for only a couple of minutes. It was easy for her to get lost in thought these days, especially with the horrible nightmares she'd been having.

Pulling herself together, the elevator dinged, and she made her way towards Pete's office. Thankfully, she had a good memory, because it was an excessive series of turns, past five or six identical offices to the one at the end that was the largest. Hoping he was already there, she tried the door. It was open, and so she slid inside quickly, closing the door behind her.

"You know, it's polite to knock," Pete said irritably. Claudia elected to ignore this statement.

"So," she said. "What's been going on?"

"I told you already," Pete said. As an answer, Claudia tossed the printed message on top of his desk. He looked down at it, and she watched as the color drained from his face.

"Ah," he said. "That's new."

"What has been going on, Pete?" Claudia growled. "This sort of thing doesn't just happen. When did things start to go downhill?"

Pete heaved a sigh, looking up from the picture, and Claudia's heart sank.

"Six months," he said. "Back in May, we got a blip in the system. Nothing major, but we looked into it just to be safe. Nothing was missing, and we didn't detect anything, so we let it go, but monitored the system more closely for an extra few weeks just in case."

"You should have called me immediately," Claudia grumbled. Pete frowned.

"About two months later, we had another blip in the system, but this time information was stolen. What it was, nobody was able to determine, because nothing was missing. So, we tightened security."

"_Then _you should have called me," Claudia said irritably.

"Two weeks after that incident he broke in again, but this time we caught him," Pete continued, ignoring Claudia's comments. She straightened up, listening intently. "He made a mistake this time, because we were able to track down the computer he was using, and his location."

"So what did you get then?"

"Well, he didn't clean up his tracks properly, so we were able to trace some of his computer usage, where he checked an email. It's not much, but his name is Ethan Crane. He even had a picture, though we can't confirm whether or not it's him."

Pete handed her a slightly blurry photograph of a burly young man in a sweatshirt, smiling at the camera. He looked like he could be in his late twenties, which did not sound right to Claudia.

"No, our guy is older, he knows us," she said grimly. "Although this person could be useful, I'll run a scan on the picture and see if I can get a match. Did you find anything else?"

Pete shook his head.

"Sorry I didn't contact you sooner."

"Yeah, well..." Claudia trailed off, heaving a sigh. "Whoever he is, he's learning fast, because I just had someone try and get past the Warehouse firewall."

"They didn't get anything, did they?" Pete said, alarmed.

"No, but neither did I. They were quick enough to pull out before I got to their computer, but hopefully they've lost the majority of their progress, so that will hold them up for a while which should give me enough time to update the security system."

With that, Claudia decided it was time for her to leave. She needed to go directly to the Warehouse before Crane could try at hacking her system again. Silently willing him to burn in hell for all of eternity for screwing up her sleeping schedule, Claudia got to her feet.

"Thanks for letting me know Pete," she said. "I'll keep in touch. Watch your system. I'll try and update it as soon as possible."

Pete nodded. "What can I do to help?" he asked.

Claudia paused a moment, halfway out the door. She turned to look at her old friend, a smile playing at her lips.

"Keep your phone charged."


End file.
